


Charades

by moolktea



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Claustrophobia, Crack, F/F, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light Angst, M/M, nero propaganda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 19:22:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18629692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moolktea/pseuds/moolktea
Summary: It's all fun and games until Nero's overwhelming claustrophobia and childhood trauma kicks in.





	Charades

**Author's Note:**

> day 1...of spardaweek  
> i am a foooool  
> mostly used the "This Party's Getting Crazy" prompt but also Quality Time could apply as well i think  
> ok luna u can have the brain cell back now

Nero should have known this was a bad idea from the moment he’d spotted the wicked, evil glint in Nico’s eye as she’d drained what was left of the beer in her bottle before placing it on the ground and ordering the rest of them to form a circle.

“Ever heard of seven minutes in heaven, Pretty Boy?” Nico had demanded slyly, a sinister grin stretching across her face as she’d slid her brown gaze over to him. 

Nico is a witch, dressed in leather and denim, and Nero vows to burn her at the stake if he ever gets out of this situation alive. Which he probably won’t.

To be fair, Nico doesn’t know the depth of why this is really,  _ really  _ bad for Nero--especially bad, and not just the usual all-my-friends-are-crazy-or-psychotic bad. No one does, not even Kyrie. This is a secret from his home life that he keeps close to his heart, one that he doesn’t plan to reveal anytime soon. 

Maybe he’ll be alright. He’s nineteen now, in his first year of college, and has been away from his adoptive parents for seven months. He’s over it--or at least, he  _ should  _ be over it.

Nero jumps as the timer on Nico’s phone goes off, signaling the end of Trish and Vergil’s time in the closet together. There’s absolutely no sort of noise coming from behind the door, and Nero has to wonder if they’ve maybe killed each other in the seven minutes--more like fifteen, since Nico decreed that seven minutes was hardly enough time to do anything--that they were locked in.

“Uh, y’all can come out now!” Nico announces as she throws open the door, revealing Vergil’s extremely displeased face, which, to normal onlookers, would appear to be completely blank. Their little friend group, however, is more than capable of reading the slight downturn of the corners of his lips.

“Hello, Nico,” Vergil greets her placidly, and from the other end of the closet, sitting almost as far away as possible, Trish lazily waves at them.

“Doesn’t look like you had much fun, Verge,” Dante crows, taking a drink from what has to be his fourth or fifth bottle of beer. 

Despite the amount that he’s had, the senior looks absolutely unaffected, and Nero, who has been the only sober one at this gathering for the entire night due to his extremely lightweight tendencies, can’t help but feel a stab of envy. Even  _ Kyrie _ , who weighed about one hundred pounds and is a good head shorter than Nero can outdrink him. 

Actually, considering how she and Lady both managed to drink Dante under the table the last time they were at a bar, that’s probably not a fair comparison.

“No, Dante. Indeed I didn’t. I find no enjoyment in loitering about in a dark closet, much like a wilting plant,” Vergil says, shooting a disgusted look at his twin brother, who merely waves his words away.

“Stiff as always,” Trish drawls as she uncoils herself from her corner, stalking back over to the circle to wrap her long arms around Lady. “And  _ not  _ in the good way.”

“Hm.”

Vergil makes a discontented sort of noise in the back of his throat as Dante laughs heartily, uncrossing his legs and walking over to the closet, offering a hand to his brother. His twin takes it, meeting Dante’s gaze evenly, allowing the younger to help him up.

Dante’s relationship with his brother is a bit bizarre, to say in the least, and the rest of them have pretty much given up on trying to figure it out. It was pretty clear the two brothers cared about each other in a roundabout, twisted sort of a way, and that was really all one needed, Nero supposes.

“So, who’s next?” Kyrie asks perkily from her position to Nero’s right, turning her bright eyes on Nico, and Nero suddenly has the sneaking suspicion that she would very much like it to be her. 

“Ain’t up to me to decide,” Nico deflects, but gives Kyrie a long look back as she reaches over to spin the beer bottle again. 

All eyes immediately flicker to the movement of the bottle, breaths bated as the group eagerly anticipates the result.

“Well, damn,” Dante whistles, as he traces the bottle back to his own location. “Shouldn’t have bothered to sit back down, I guess. Who’s the lucky other, then?”

Nero ducks his head at the rhetorical question, praying to the Savior that his blush isn’t as noticeable as it feels. 

He’s admittedly been crushing on Dante for a while--a long while, pretty much ever since the two had first met when Dante, who had been running late for football practice, had accidentally crashed into an unsuspecting Nero, sending him flying into the nearby water fountain.

A very soggy experience, but a good one, nonetheless, because Nero had been faced with Dante’s concerned, mildly apologetic face as he’d extended a hand to help fish the freshman out. 

Kyrie knows about his crush, mostly because Nero has spent quite a few long nights discussing it with her, ranting about all the idiotic, yet oddly endearing things that Dante has done over the half-year or so that Nero’s gotten to know him for.

She insists he has terrible taste, and Nero honestly can’t help but agree with her.

Dante is  _ hot _ , there’s no denying that. Anyone with a pair of functioning eyes could easily determine that. He has a habit of always wearing ridiculously tight t-shirts underneath his signature red leather coat, and the fabric stretches across his broad chest and hardened muscles in a way that is nearly impossible to ignore. 

His strong jaw is constantly framed by a layer of unshaved stubble, but Dante somehow makes the unkempt look work, and it’s completely, totally unfair. Sometimes, when Nero thinks he can get away with it, he lets his eyes trail downwards from Dante’s face to the neck of Dante’s low cut shirt, where the faintest beginnings of Dante’s chest hair peeks out from underneath the collar.

So Dante definitely has the physical department working out for him.

But the boy also lacks quality traits such as common sense, social etiquette, and the ability to keep his dick in his pants for longer than a couple of days.

That was likely another roadblock in Nero’s relationship goals--Dante, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be quite straight, and Nero really had no way of finding evidence to the contrary.

But he doesn't mind too much--Dante is still his friend, and that’s really all Nero needs if that’s the best he can hope for. The older boy has been nothing but kind to him since they’d first met, constantly hanging out with Nero in the library. 

Despite being about four years older than Nero, he’s forever asking Nero for help with his work, looking at Nero with those infuriatingly convincing deep blue eyes of his in a way that was highly reminiscent of a golden retriever, and Nero can’t ever find it in himself to refuse.

Sometimes, they go out for pizza, even, and Nero, especially in the first months of his freedom, always enjoys a taste of what real food is like. His adoptive parents, both highly religious and a little on the crazy and genuinely evil side, had always been rather restrictive of his diet, preferring to spend their money and resources on their real children rather than Nero.

Dante had been the one to watch him eat his very first ice cream sundae, actually--the absolute look of mingled disbelief and righteous outrage on Dante’s face when Nero had told him he’d never had ice cream before is a memory that Nero will carry with him to his grave.

And he will be going to his grave very soon, if the bottle lands on him.

While the prospect of being alone with Dante in such close proximity is nothing short of exciting, Nero can’t deny the way that even just looking at the shut door of the closet sends a chill of absolute fear up his spine, his stomach turning to lead at the thought of being actually in it.

He’s been lucky so far, lucky enough to avoid being dragged in all the times before, but his luck is bound to run out as some point during the night.

“Ah…” Lady says, as she looks at the bottle, which is pointing directly at Vergil.

Nero feels a sense of sharp relief, relief that is instantly mitigated the second that Vergil glances at Dante and flatly announces,

“No.” 

The icy stare that he gives all of them after his proclamation is so deadly that Nico reaches over without a word and respins the bottle.

“Hmm...I would prefer not to,” V answers, when the bottle stops once and all eyes land upon him. “You see, I am in the middle of quite an entertaining verse--what might it be, you ask?”

No one asks.

“Silent, silent night, quench the holy light, of thy torches bright. For possessed of Day, Thousand spirits stray, that sweet joys betray.”

Lit majors were fucking weird.

“In any case,” V continues, snapping his book closed with a firm noise. “I believe that our good friend Dante is rather...lacking in a certain area of substance for me to consider delving into such territory with him. I shall pass, thank you.”

Dante either ignores the insult, doesn’t notice it, or actually respects V’s decision to pass. Whatever the reason, Dante is the one who spins the bottle again, and, third time must be the charm--or rather, the horrific curse that was placed upon Nero at the moment of his birth, because his luck has finally run out.

Nero feels his mental walls slam upwards as everyone looks at him, and he adjusts his glasses with a hand, trying to look more his usual irritated and annoyed than  _ absolutely fucking terrified. _

“The fuck are you all looking at me for?” he demands, curling his fingernails into the fleshy part of his palm, his hand covered by the long sleeve of his hoodie. “V and Vergil both got to pass, didn’t they? I’d like to cash in my ticket for that, too.”

Nico rolls her eyes and Trish, sitting on his other side, nudges him in the shoulder.

“Trust me, Nero--no one wants to go into the closet with Dante. If you pass, we’ll be sitting here all night.”

“Take one for the team and loosen up, asshole!” Nico calls, and he shoots her a glare in return as best as he can.

He could technically do it--he could tell them the real reason why he doesn’t want to get into that closet with Dante, and all of them would understand. Even Vergil would give him that silent, barely there look of split-second sympathy, and Nico would poke fun at him for something unrelated before moving on. None of them would force him to go in.

But this is actually fucking ridiculous.

Nero is nineteen years old, and he’s scared of a dark room and a locked door, like he’s still a toddler who doesn’t know that the true monsters aren’t under his bed but  _ in  _ them, slipping underneath his covers and crawling against his skin.

He should be over this. He should be, and he  _ will _ be, the second he forces himself inside that stupid closet.

“Fucking fine. But you owe me for this,” he grits out, heaving himself upwards and stalking over to the closet.

So far, no one has noticed the tremble in his hands or the nervousness that must show on his face, which he takes to be a mostly positive sign. 

Behind him, he hears the others laughing, making predictions on what will happen, hears the clink of a glass bottle being set down against the floor, the clamoring of Dante scrambling upwards as he hurries to join Nero, but it all sounds very distant and far away.

“Hey,” Dante says lowly, from somewhere very close to his ear, and Nero startles, twisting around to look at him.

“You ready for this?” 

There’s a measure of concern underneath the teasing note in Dante’s voice, like the other has noticed Nero’s sudden anxiety. The other subtly shifts, and Nero realizes that Dante is intentionally blocking Nero from view of the others, turning this moment into something in between just the two of them.

It’s a touching gesture--Dante is surprisingly thoughtful when he wants to be, and is always kind. 

But Nero can’t back down now.

“Ready to get a close-up look at your sweaty self? Not really, but I doubt anyone’s prepared for that,” Nero snipes at him, before ducking into the closet, taking up the distant right corner.

It’s not so bad. Yet.

Dante chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as he kneels down on the other side of him.

“It sure is a surprise sometimes--but a good one, I swear. I’ll rock your whole world, kid.”

Nero resists the urge to do something stupid, like say “you already have” or run out of the closet and jump off of a cliff.

“Well, have fun, you two,” Nico winks at him, her hand on the door, and Nero sneers back, hating how instantly his heart rate picks up, how his vision is tunneling until the open door of the closet looks like nothing more than a tiny gap in the suffocating air.

Then Nico closes the door.

Nero inhales sharply, a cold sweat breaking out against his skin as he leans his head against the wall, screwing his eyes shut, digging his fingers into the clothes beneath him. 

“So, kid,” Dante clears his throat after perhaps ten seconds of silence, ten seconds which feel like a year to Nero.

“Yes?” Nero asks through his clenched teeth.

“Glad you decided to show up to the party after all. And real glad that you’re taking part in the games, to be honest. This is fun.”

Nero hears the words, but doesn’t answer, can’t think about them or of a response when the walls are already closing in on him, the four sides of a cement box sealing him in, threatening to collapse on him and bury him forever.

Fun?

Dante thinks this is fun?

They probably all do. Even Vergil, who’d sat where Nero is sitting now, picking at the carpet in silence and thinking about his disgust for humanity and all that. They probably all think it’s fun, because it  _ is _ , it’s fun to spend time with your friends, and it’s fun to do stupid shit like go inside of a closet and hang out, because most people don’t fucking freak out when the door closes.

Nero isn’t most people, though--he’s screwed up, and he doesn’t know how to not be screwed up.

He deserves it, he deserves to be locked up in here and rot away forever, because he’s about five fucking seconds away from ruining everyone’s fun and snapping and slamming himself against the door and begging to be let out, except that never works--no matter how long or hard he screams for, the door only opens when the person on the other side  _ wants  _ it to open.

And  _ that  _ only happens when Nero is a good boy, which he can never fucking be because of how screwed up he is.

So he’s stuck. He’s stuck here forever, in the dark, seeing nothing, and maybe feeling nothing, too, except for the horrible pounding of his own heart in his chest, beating fast and sharply enough that Nero worries that something might be wrong, but even if there is, there’s no point, he’s alone and he--

“Nero?”

Nero is too out of it to control his flinch when the hand closes around his wrist, and, in the dim light filtering underneath the crack under the door, Nero can see the hurt, followed by concern, that flashes across Dante’s face.

“How long has it been?” he asks, instead of answering the unspoken question, surprised at how steady he’s forcing his voice to be.

“Uh, haven’t really been counting. A minute, maybe?”

Sixty seconds.

That’s how long it took for Nero to lose his shit--less than that, actually. And yet, Nero still feels like they’ve been sitting here for longer than the rest of his life.

“Besides that...you sure you’re okay, kid?”

Nero combs his fingers through his long white bangs, adjusts his glasses again, fiddles with his too large sleeves--anything to keep his hands busy and his mind off of their current location for just one second.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

Nero stays completely silent at that, focused only on breathing in and out through his teeth, and he realizes that this is it--this is where Dante realizes he’s not worth having as a friend and drops him on the sidewalk.

The hand still on his wrist tightens, and Nero thinks that it’s oddly grounding, a firm, but gentle pressure, despite the fact that he’s seen Dante literally unintentionally crush completely full soda cans in his hands when he gets overly excited about something.

“Ah, shit. You are, aren’t you?”

“What do you want me to fucking say?” Nero snaps defensively, his body curling in on itself, because he doesn’t know how to do anything more than that. “Yeah, you got me. A college kid and I’m scared of the shitty dark.”

Dante sighs out slowly, then scoots over, much, much closer to Nero than before, and Nero is about to ask what the hell Dante thinks he’s doing when the older boy wraps his large arms around him, pressing his face into Nero’s hair.

“Why didn’t you say anything when we were outside? We wouldn’t have made you--we’re not  _ that  _ messed up.”

Nero wants to think up a lie, put on his usual defensive anger and push Dante away, but he’s a little too focused on how good it feels to lay his head against Dante’s chest, on how listening to a heartbeat that’s so much slower than his own is impossibly comforting. Dante’s arms around him are tight, but not confining, unlike the closet they’re in, and Dante’s scent is a reminder of where he is.

He’s not in his own home, clawing at the locked door of his parents’ closet until his fingernails bleed. He’s at Trish and Lady’s apartment, sitting in their somewhat haphazardly organized closet. Their shoes line the other side, opposite from where they’re sitting, and one or two purses are strewn about on the ground. It’s all very Lady and Trish, and it’s all very much real.

“It’s not a big deal,” Nero mutters into Dante’s skin, enjoying the way that Dante’s large hand has started rubbing circles into his back. “At least, it shouldn’t fucking be. It’s just a stupid closet…stupid party game…”

“Well, it got me here with you. Wouldn’t call it so stupid myself, kid.”

Nero doesn’t know what to say to that--or at least, doesn’t know what to say that won’t horribly embarrass himself, so instead, he looks down, smiling to himself because he knows that no one can see him do it.

“Besides, maybe not all of us are ready to come out of the closet yet,” Dante continues, clearly proud of his own not-joke.

Fucking stupid idiot.

Stupid, amazing, lovable idiot.

“Shut the fuck up,” Nero manages at last, and he can feel the way that Dante’s laugh ripples through his chest.

“Sure, kid. It’s been five minutes, by the way. Don’t got much longer in here.”

He appreciates Dante giving him the time without being prompted for it, like he knows Nero must be counting down the seconds until they’re free.

In the meantime, Nero feels like he owes Dante an explanation of sorts. The other boy is doing all this for him, after all. Or maybe he just really wants to tell someone, in the quiet privacy of Dante’s arms.

“My adoptive father used to lock me in the closet when I was little,” Nero offers, and saying it feels good, like it’s a weight off his chest. He knows that Dante won’t tell anyone, will keep his secrets for as long as Nero needs him to, and it’s amazing to be able to trust someone in this way.

Dante shifts underneath him, his grip around Nero’s waist tightening, but he doesn’t say anything in response, somehow extending a silent invitation for Nero to go on. 

“He, uh...wanted something from me. Wouldn’t let me out until I agreed to it. Fucking asshole.”

“What was it?” Dante asks carefully, and Nero swallows harshly.

He’s being honest now, but he doesn’t think he can go this far. Not yet.

“Uh...I don’t...I don’t think I can tell you that right now.”

Dante makes a neutral noise in the back of his throat that Nero isn’t quite sure how to interpret. Then,

“So, kid. You like windows in your bedroom?”

“Sorry, what?” Nero blinks, startled at the sudden change in topic.

“You’re coming back home with me for the break, aren’t you? Must be losing your touch, kid. You gotta be pretty out of it if you think I’m letting you go back to your house.”

Nero is here on a full-ride scholarship due to his excellent standardized test scores and his high school valedictorian status, currently has a flawless GPA, and cannot, for the life of him, muster up anything remotely intelligent to say. 

“I know,” Dante continues, in the absence of a response. “My own generosity blows me away at times. It’s incredible how amazing I am.”

Dante’s voice is as confident and self-assured as usual, but, with his head pressed so closely to Dante’s chest, Nero can hear the way that Dante’s heart picks up as he nervously waits for Nero’s answer.

So even the great, infamous Dante could get anxious at times too.

“You’d better clean up the room first. I’ve seen how you handle your own fucking dorm--no way am I stepping one foot inside of your house if it’s anything like that.”

Dante groans at the reminder, a soft thump echoing through the closet as he leans his head against the wall.

“Aw, come on, kid! Besides, I got you now, don’t I? You’re always picking up after me.”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” Nero grumbles. “If only you stopped leaving your shit around everywhere...but it must be pretty impossible when your life seems to be always falling apart.”

“You wound me, kid. I’m way too nice for my own good, taking you into my home. My heart is just too big.”

“If you say so, Mr. Grinch.”

Nero relaxes further against Dante, his blue eyes slipping shut. The room has stopped spinning, at least, even if the walls still feel uncomfortably tight around him, and he’s fairly certain that if Dante weren’t here, keeping his grounding hold around him, Nero wouldn’t be so calm right now.

But it’s definitely a start.

They lay in silence like that for a few more minutes before Dante, who is generally unable to stay silent for more than a minute, looks down at him, gently tilting Nero’s head up, an evil glint in his blue eyes.

“Hey, kid. You wanna screw with the others?”

Nero glances up at Dante’s face, at the mischief in his smile and the deep blue of his puppy-dog eyes.

How could he possibly say no?

* * *

 

 

“They’ve been in there for a long time,” Nico mutters, checking the time on her phone. The timer had actually gone off five minutes ago, but neither Nero nor Dante seemed to have heard it, and Nico was well aware of Nero’s little crush on the older boy, so she’d decided to let it go on for a little longer.

“Perhaps we should check on them,” V offers.

As soon as the words leave his mouth, there’s a sudden, very loud thump against the closet the door.

“Ah,  _ Dante,” _ comes Nero’s voice, sounding much breathier and higher than normal.

All six occupants of the room sit up and turn towards the closet so fast that their bones nearly crack from whiplash.

_ “Shit _ \--God,  _ yes,  _ Nero. Just...just relax for a second...I need...need to get in…”

The mildly wet, squelching noise that emanates from the closet causes everyone in the vicinity to violently flinch, a visceral disgust crossing over the various features of the assembled group.

“Wait one fucking second--that’s our closet,” Lady says slowly, a special brand of horror dawning across her face. “Trish, that’s  _ our  _ closet.”

“I...I know,” Trish replies, her eyes dark with fury and the fear of God. “But if we open the door now...who knows what we’ll find?”

“Dante, it’s...so  _ big.” _

Suddenly, all gazes are on Vergil--or more specifically, Vergil’s crotch. He and Dante were twins, after all.

“Do not…” Vergil begins, but is cut off by the loudest moan they’ve heard thus far, and Vergil immediately goes silent again.

“Damn, kid. You sure can take it in. This why you always order extra meat on your pizza?”

“I’m going vegetarian,” Kyrie announces, and is met with intense agreement from the rest.

The assorted panting and groaning noises from inside the closet only grow louder, and the poor victims in the room are too terrified to move, much less walk over the source of their despair and uncover it for the world to see.

There’s another thump against the door, harsher, and more frantic this time as Nero says Dante’s name again in long, drawn out moan that none of them are likely to ever forget for the rest of their lives. Then, Dante’s voice--the voice of the devil, actually--growls out, low and harsh--

_ “Vergil--!” _

There is a crack, at that point, and everyone slowly turns to see Vergil, who has lost so much color in his face that he blends in easily with the wall against him. The glass beer bottle in his hand has a three inch long crack in it, and the look on his face is completely blank.

“Wait, before you do anything stupid--” Nico starts, as, behind her, Kyrie frantically begins packing her things and V shuts his book, putting it back into his pocket.

The bottle shatters.

Party’s over, then.

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes later, Nero and Dante are alone in the apartment, lounging comfortably on the couch, fully clothed, taking slices from the pizza they’d ordered via mobile app sometime during the part where Nero had been pretending to admire Dante’s sizeable girth.

“Told you it’d be fun,” Dante says happily as he observes the chaos of the apartment before them. 

He’s only seen the full extent of Vergil’s wrath about once or twice, but this time...well, Dante was lucky that he and Nero were both still innocently hugging it out in the closet while the disaster went down.

Nero rolls his eyes, swallowing down his pizza, which did indeed have extra meat on it. 

“This is the worst thing I’ve ever done for you,” Nero answers, but he shifts closer to Dante, nestling his head happily in Dante’s side as Dante wraps his free arm around him.

“So…” Dante begins after some time spent quietly chewing, looking down at the top of Nero’s head. “You want to go out with me?”

Nero should know this is a bad idea.

But he’s going to have a lot of those, anyway, in his future with Dante.

He tilts his head up, brushing his fingers against the strong curve of Dante's jaw.

"Well, Dante," he says, thinking of all the things Dante has done for him and the things he and Dante might do together. 

"It's your lucky day."

**Author's Note:**

> https://twitter.com/moolktea  
> twitterrrrrrrrr


End file.
